30 Days (Kind of) to Fall in Love
by spikesvamp79
Summary: Based on ericandy's Tumblr prompt for the OTP 30 day challenge. Sherlock and Molly find themselves falling in love. May contain some naughty moments later on, thus the rating. Assume T until told otherwise.
1. Chapter 1

30 Days (Kind of) to Fall in Love

Alright, so this is something that will be mostly fluff, bit of angst, but hopefully fun. The Magic of Soup is at a bit of an impasse that I'm working hard at (kind of). This is something to fluff in in the meanwhile. The prompt is inspired by ericandy's 30 day OTP challenge on Tumblr.

Disclaimer: If I owned Sherlock Holmes, the rest of the world would never see him Not mine.

Holding Hands

For quite some time Sherlock Holmes had held the opinion that touching others should be avoided at all costs. After the introduction of Doctor John Watson into his life, this opinion was somewhat weakened by the hugs and occasional touches that the man would bestow upon his flatmate. By no means were these the beginnings of a homoerotic affair, but there were instead the reassuring attempts at comfort and camaraderie. Dr. Watson happened to enjoy hugging people and found that a well-placed hug could be quite an excellent solution to many a problem, much like tea.

After his fall and resurrection at the hands of one Molly Hooper, Sherlock found himself wondering if touching was all that bad. This was not to say that he felt the need to go around holding hands with the entire populace, but there was a certain pathologist, who he would not mind sharing the occasional hug or hand hold with. Indeed, through his ordeal and trials thereafter, Molly had been developed the habit of hugging him whenever he showed up at her flat in desperate need of something or other.

When he revealed himself as being alive to his brother, the feud that had existed for so long between the Holmes brothers was dissolved as Mycroft had enveloped his younger brother in what could only be described as a bear hug. Mrs. Hudson had done the same, and even Lestrade had given him a good thump on the back. John had gone for a right hook but had followed it up directly with yet another hug.

This led the consulting detective to find himself standing outside of Molly's door several weeks after his resurrection. He and John had started taking cases again; Lestrade was reinstated and offered a promotion, which benefitted Sherlock with even greater access and freedom within Scotland Yard. Mycroft had helped to soothe over any issues that should arise in order to prevent anything from happening like it had with Moriarty. After finishing a case this morning, Sherlock's boredom had crashed down and he found himself with the desperate need of something to do, and thus he stood.

The thought that it would be polite to have at least texted before showing up at her doorstep flashed through his mind, but, knowing Molly, Sherlock knew that she was not working and that she would always have time for him. Pulling out the key that he had had made ages ago, he let himself into her flat, giving the poor pathologist quite a fright.

Living alone, Molly was not used to people coming over, let alone letting themselves in. She began to get up from her position on the couch to go for the gun that Sherlock had stashed in her kitchen drawer soon after the fall, but before she could get there, the man himself entered. "Sherlock!" she shouted, with a disapproving tone, "you can't just let yourself into someone's flat whenever you feel like it! It's just not polite!"

Hanging up his coat and toeing off his shoes, he turned to her. "Molly, I am not known for being polite and you are hardly someone," he informed her without thinking about what his words meant.

Molly had thought that they had been getting on rather well, but his harsh words brought tears to her eyes. Sherlock had been treating her like she was another human being and that she truly did count to him, but this was too much. This was back to Christmas and ignored coffee dates. Before she could think, she found herself yelling at him, "it doesn't matter if you don't give a damn about being polite, I am somebody and you said that I do count. You can't treat me like this! Get out! Get out now!"

Sherlock went over what he had just said that would inspire this reaction in Molly. While she stood there, fuming at him without speaking, he tried to understand what he had said when he thought back to her comment that she had said that he had said that she did count. Oh. Right. Not good. Sherlock walked over to the woman and took her hands in his to pull her back down to the sofa. Keeping her hands locked in his own, he looked her in the eye and spoke. "I didn't mean that you weren't important or that you don't count. I meant that you are not like everyone else. You mean much more to me than most others do. I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you, and you are truly a good person, Molly Hooper," he said, solemnly.

He had maintained eye contact with her and noticed that the tears were threatening to overflow once more. Reflecting back on what he had said, he realized that there certainly was a good dose of sentiment in what he had said. Surprisingly, he didn't mind it too much. It wasn't as if he had to open himself up to everyone all at once. It was just Molly. Molly who he knew he could trust just as much as John. Without realizing it, his hands had started to gently rub circles on the back of her hands in an attempt to soothe the now openly crying woman. "Molly, are you alright?" he inquired, becoming concerned with her silence.

"Please don't be mad, but I have to tell you something Sherlock. This can't wait. It's too important. And I don't care if you don't return it or if you think that it doesn't matter or if you don't care. I just have to tell you that I love you, Sherlock Holmes, and it doesn't matter if you can't understand it or if you don't return it now or ever, I will always love you and will always be here for you," Molly declared, her stuttering noticeably absent. She dropped her gaze down to their hands, still entwined. She let out a small laugh and pulled away one of her hands to wipe at her face before returning it to his hold.

Sherlock didn't know what to say. He knew that the pathologist had had an infatuation with him, but he didn't realize how deeply it went. This was too much for him. He couldn't handle this intensity, this amount of sentiment. "I'm sorry, I have to go," he mumbled, dropping her hands and standing quickly. He pulled on his jacket and shoes and left without a word. Molly Hooper sat on her couch, devastated. She should have known that she would get a reaction like that, but she didn't think that it would be that bad. She chided herself for coming on too strong and overwhelming the man. She knew Sherlock and she knew that this was the wrong way to do this, but it had to be done. Letting out a deep sigh and knowing that she was in for a tear-filled evening, she let her body fall to the couch that had so recently held her dear Sherlock to allow her emotions reign over her body.


	2. Chapter 2

30 Days (Kind of) to Fall in Love

The prompt is inspired by ericandy's 30 day OTP challenge on Tumblr.

Disclaimer: If I owned Sherlock Holmes, the rest of the world would never see him Not mine.

2. Cuddling

Sherlock was broken, or so John Watson thought. For three days, he had maintained an ever-constant vigil on the couch of 221 B. John was unable to get Sherlock to explain what in the world had happened to cause this shutdown, but he was beginning to get concerned. The man had not eaten and more than likely hadn't slept for those three days. Before Sherlock had begun this fit, he had finished a case, complained about being bored until John had kicked him out of the flat, and then been away for a little less than an hour, only to return in this funk. Lestrade had called twice with a possible case for them, but nothing was able to rouse the man.

Then, on the afternoon of the third day, almost exactly the same time as he had left before, Sherlock sprung up from the couch, showered, and left without a word to John. Deciding to follow him, just to ensure his safety, John followed him as left Baker Street. Instead of taking a cab, Sherlock walked, and walked, and walked. John was about ready to call it quits and hail a cab back home when Sherlock finally stopped at an apartment building near Bart's. Waiting for him to go in, John made his way up to the directory and saw Molly Hooper's name on the list. Realization dawned on John that the reason for Sherlock's issues and fit were because of his pathologist, as he had taken to calling her. John smiled and hailed a cab, hoping that the detective didn't mess everything up.

Molly was startled by the knock at her door. She set down her large glass of wine and plate of Chinese that she had just been settling into and went to answer it. Without thinking, she opened the door to see Sherlock outside her door. She hadn't contacted him and had heard nothing from him since the other night, but she silently prayed that he wasn't here to rub things in or, even worse, to outright reject her. As long has he didn't do that, there was always hope for her. "Sherlock?" she asked, not letting him.

Standing up impossibly straighter, he spoke. "We need to talk."

"Um, okay," Molly mumbled, allowing him in. "Did you want some food? It doesn't look like you've eaten in a few days. Hard case?"

Sherlock let out a small laugh. "I suppose you could say that he answered," sitting down next to where she had placed her food on the table in front of the couch. Molly brought him over a plate of food, wondering if perhaps he just wanted to forget the other night had ever happened, and she was almost alright with that. Of course she would always want him, but if he couldn't be her lover, she would settle for him as her friend. She sat down next to him and resumed eating her dinner.

"So, what was the case about?" she asked, trying to get him engaged in something that she knew he would have little trouble speaking on for quite a while.

"You, as it were," he replied, focusing on his food and not on the look of shock that graced Molly's face.

"What do you mean, 'me?'"

"I mean that I thought about what you said the other night and, while it took me some time, I came to a conclusion."

"A, a conclusion, as to what, exactly?" Molly was becoming more and more nervous as this went on. Her fear of rejection seized her heart and she felt her insides clench in the fear that she may be rejected by the man she loved so well.

"I believe that we should begin dating. For as long as we have known each other, it is customary to go on varied outings with the person you are attracted to, correct?" he said, finally looking at her with a glint of mischief in his eyes. He knew that Molly would be worried about his reaction from the other night, but he had not intentions of hurting his pathologist.

Molly's heart was doing an entire gymnastics' routine. Sherlock Holmes was not only attracted to her, but also wanted to date her! "I do believe that is what people do," she answered him, unable to contain a giant smile off of her face.

"Shall we start tonight," Sherlock asked.

"Um, I suppose we could. But, we're already eating and you've already come over, so there's no real point in going out. We could watch a film after we're done eating, I guess," Molly offered.

"That sounds perfectly acceptable." The two went back to eating their dinner, occasionally sneaking glances at the other. After they had finished, Molly cleared their plates and went to pick out a film. She was fairly certain that Sherlock hadn't seen most of the ones that she owned and felt no fear of putting in something that he had already seen. As she sat back down on the couch next to Sherlock, she felt his arm go around her shoulders and pull her into him. This was a development that she hadn't seen coming, but was not at all opposed to.

After a few moments of shifting while the previews played, they ended up with Sherlock in the corner of the couch with Molly leaning heavily against him and his arm draped around her. In addition to this, he had taken her hand and was playing with it absent mindedly. As _The Princess Bride_ started playing, Sherlock made no comment on her choice of movie and even found himself enjoying it, at least a little bit. The inclusion of pirates was what gave it a not terrible rating according to Sherlock.

Sherlock looked down at the woman cuddled beside him as the credits began to play. Molly had fallen asleep right before the fire swamp and was sleeping soundly against his chest. Instead of feeling disgusted by the small mark of spit that she had left on his shirt, he felt a sense of endearment toward the woman. If she could love him through his cruelties, his inadequacies, his failures, then there was no reason that he couldn't do the same through her habits and quirks.

He gently eased his sleeping pathologist into his arms and made his way to her bedroom. He knew that if she slept on the couch that she would wake up with a severe back ache and she had to work the next day. He turned down the covers and placed her in them. Gently wrapping her up, he smiled as she murmured his name in her sleep. With a squeeze of her hand, Sherlock left the room, turning out the lights and locked the apartment as he left to go back to his own. Something had changed tonight, and Sherlock was not afraid of it, but actually rather excited to see what would happen.


	3. Chapter 3

30 Days (Kind of) to Fall in Love

The prompt is inspired by ericandy's 30 day OTP challenge on Tumblr. Also, not a gamer, at all, so this is my version of "gaming." Also, for those who portray Sherlock as never drinking liquor, it's in the books, as is late night drinking between Watson and Holmes. Thanks ACD!

Disclaimer: If I owned Sherlock Holmes, the rest of the world would never see him Not mine.

3. Gaming/Watching a movie

John Watson was seriously regretting his decision to challenge Sherlock Holmes to a drinking game. Neither man was sober, but John knew he was already going to feel ill the next day and was sure that being fully hung over was not far away. However, in return for this, he had gotten quite a few "truths" out of Sherlock. John had been contently working on his new Vince Flynn novel when Sherlock had become truly unruly. He had tried sitting him in front of the telly for something terrible; he had tried calling Lestrade and begging him for some sort of case. Nothing on the website or the blog had attracted anything worth investigating.

So, John had decided to try engage Sherlock in a drinking game. While an actual game might have been less dangerous, the consulting detective found it difficult to confine himself to the actual rules of the game. Not to mention that, in games such as Poker, any front that John might try to put up, the other man could see right through it. They had thus ended up at a weird version of Truth or Dare. Since neither really wanted to leave the flat or do anything, it was more just Truth. Any refusal to answer a question was solved with a shot of whiskey. So far neither had really wanted to answer anything and so they were both well on their way to being full on drunk.

Curiosity and lowered inhibitions getting the better of him, John went for a question that had been plaguing him for a while. "What were you thinking about for three days last week?" he asked.

Sherlock frowned. "Molly," he answered.

"Molly Hooper?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"John, that would be the third question you've asked. You'll have to wait for your next turn."

John sighed. "Alright, go," he responded.

Sherlock thought for a moment. "How does one bring about the subject of having sex with one's girlfriend," he asked.

John's eyes popped out of his head. "What? Sherlock, why are you asking me that? I thought you were married to your work?"

"Well I happen to have acquired a girlfriend and I believe that I should like to at least attempt having sex with her to see if it is enjoyable as everyone says it is," he responded non-chalantly.

"Well, you talk with her about it, wait, are you saying you've never had sex before," he asked.

"I'll assume that's your next question, and the answer is no, I haven't," Sherlock answered. "How does one 'talk about it'? Is it appropriate to simply ask if she would like to have sex?"

"Hang on, just hang on a minute. Who the hell is your 'girlfriend?' And since when are you into having girlfriends?" John fairly shouted. He was quite confused by this change in his friend.

"John, you have yet to answer my question. Either answer or drink, and then I shall answer you."

Sighing, the doctor spoke, "well, you just sort of start talking about it. Sometimes one thing leads to another, but other times you do well to actually talk about it and make sure everyone is on the same page. For you, I'd recommend seriously talking about it since you're a virgin, can't believe Mycroft wasn't joking about that, and you clearly are rather lacking in this department. Now, tell me, who is your girlfriend?"

"Molly."

"Molly Hooper?!" John shouted. He hadn't thought that Sherlock would ever return Molly's feelings for him. Then the realization came to John that during those three days on the couch, Sherlock had been in his mind palace, trying to work out his feelings for the pathologist.

"Indeed," Sherlock responded, pulling out his phone and sending a text. "If that's all, I think I'll retire for the evening," he said, and stood, draining the remaining whiskey in his glass. "Good night John," he said and went down the hall to his room.

John sat in shock, but a smile slowly made its way onto his face. As long as Sherlock didn't mess anything up too badly, this may turn out all right in the end.

Molly heard her phone ping in her pocket as she worked at the microscope. Setting down the notes she had been taking, she retrieved her phone.

_I'm bored. SH_

_Well, what would you like me to do about that? xxx M_

_IDK. We could play a game. SH_

_What would you like to play? I am at work, btw. xxx M_

_Truth or dare? SH_

_Sure. You go first. xxx M_

_What are you wearing right now? SH_

_Oh my, getting a bit racy are we? Well, I've got on tan slacks and a pink jumper. And my lab coat of course. Same question to you. xxx M_

_Nothing. I'm in bed. Do you want to have sex with me? SH_

Molly blanched at her phone. Even though it was going on one in the morning, she looked around guiltily at the text she had just received. She sighed, trying to figure out how best to respond. Having seen many a relationship ruined by dishonesty and insecurity, she decided to be honest with him.

_Wow, that was not what I was expecting. Um, yes. But as I said, I am at work right now… xxx M_

Sherlock was relieved to see her response. As much as he hated to admit it, he had been a bit nervous about the whole thing. It was rather a personal question and he wasn't sure what he would do if she had said no.

_Well, I understand that. I didn't mean now, obviously. John and I have been drinking and I don't think that it would be quite proper for me to ask you to come over. What are you doing tomorrow night? SH_

_That's called a booty call, and thank you for not asking me to do that, though I can't say that the thought of you, naked in bed, isn't a rather tempting thought. I've got tomorrow night and the day after off, so, you? xxx M_

_I'm not busy either. I thought that was clear. And you think about me? SH_

_Oh, wow, that failed. I meant that I might could be doing you tomorrow night. And of course I think about you. I have for years. xxx M_

_Molly, along with joking, please avoid using double modals as well. It really doesn't do for proper conversation. Where do you think about me? SH_

Sherlock became disconcerted at the lack of a response. He had been hoping that this might lead to something called "sexting" that he had read about. After 20 minutes, his phone pinged.

_Sorry, car accident, three dead teens. Have to go. See you tomorrow night? Mine or yours? xxx M_

_I'll pick you up at 7. I believe it is proper to at least buy dinner for the woman that you'd like to bed. SH_

Molly blushed as she looked at her phone and allowed a huge smile to overtake her face. She might have to deal with three distraught families and three corpses, but she would get to have sex with Sherlock Holmes tomorrow night, and that made everything all right.


	4. Chapter 4

30 Days (Kind of) to Fall in Love

The prompt is inspired by ericandy's 30 day OTP challenge on Tumblr.

AN: Thank you so much for the lovely reviews. It brings a smile to my face when I see that readers are enjoying this. Also, all mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: If I owned Sherlock Holmes, the rest of the world would never see him Not mine.

4. On a date

Molly was fairly certain that she had never been this nervous in her entire life. Not when she was applying for med school. Not when she had to give her dad's eulogy. Not when she had to kill Sherlock Holmes. Her first (real) date with Sherlock had her in quite a fix. She had slept in after getting home in the wee hours of the morning from the morgue, but then had gone out and got a haircut and her nails done. This routine was not normal first date protocol for Molly, but considering that the man who she had been slowly falling in love with for the past several years was finally taking her out and intended to spend the night afterwards, she figured that there was no problem with treating this one differently.

It was half six and she stood in front of her closet, debating her outfit. Her first impulse had been to go for a sparkly dress and heels, something that would be sure to attract attention. But as she stood staring at the ensemble, she remembered the debacle at Christmas and quickly decided against it. Deciding to go for something much more subdued, she pulled out her navy knit dress and nude heels. This would be something much more practical, something that she knew Sherlock valued much more than sparkles.

As she applied her mild makeup, the inspiration struck her to go with sparkles underneath. She simply couldn't help it. Molly liked to wear things that may seem girlish, but they served to make her feel pretty, even if Sherlock didn't approve. With her hair and makeup done, she fished out her black stockings and garter belt with the matching lacy bra and knickers. In anticipation of the events to transpire after the date itself, Molly knew that she would need every last bit of confidence that her undergarments may be able to give her. It was always a bit awkward the first time she slept with a guy, and, as much as she loved Sherlock, she had a feeling that it wouldn't be that different.

As she was applying her lipstick (even though she told herself she didn't actually need to wear it because Sherlock had still chosen her), she heard the key in the lock of her door. She heard the detective step through the door and call out her name. "Just a mo'," she called, grabbing her purse and stepping into her shoes. She smiled as she saw her Sherlock donned in his purple shirt, her favorite. "Hello," she said, stepping next to him and laying a soft kiss on his cheek.

Sherlock smiled at the sight of her. "Hello. You look lovely. The navy lessens the pallor of your skin," he remarked. Molly sighed; she knew that this was the closest thing to a compliment that she was likely to get and that she may as well take it.

"Thanks," she replied. "Shall we be off?" she asked, reaching for her coat.

"Hmm, one moment," he said, pulling out a box from the depths of his coat. "This is for you," he said, presenting her the box. "Open it."

Molly opened the jewelry box to see a thin silver chain with a small magnifying glass charm on it. She smiled and looked up at him. "Oh, Sherlock, it's gorgeous! I love it. Put it on for me," she asked, offering him the necklace. He obliged and she lifted the hair off of the back of her neck to aid him. His large hands came around her neck and fastened the small hook. Turning around, she asked, "how does it look?"

"Perfect," he replied. She stood on her tip toes and gently placed her lips on his mouth. Realizing that this was technically their first kiss, she kept her lips against his for a moment longer than necessary. As she pulled away, she saw a look of confusion go across his face. Before she could ask what he was thinking, he bent his head down to kiss her. She smiled against his lips as his arms came around her small body to pull it to his own. Just as she was going to put her hands into that astounding hair of his, he pulled away and grabbed her coat. "We don't want to be late Molly. Come along," he said, helping her into her coat and out the door.

After a short cab ride, they pulled up to a restaurant on Northumberland. Sherlock paid for the cab and held his hand out to assist Molly out of the cab. They walked inside to sit down at a table in the back of the darkened restaurant. There was already a candle lit and two glasses of red wine poured. Sherlock took Molly's coat and pulled out a chair for her. She smiled at how typically romantic this all was, but there was a little part, and mind you, a very little part of her, that was wondering how long he would keep this up. It wasn't to say that planning an entire evening down to every last detail wasn't Sherlock Holmes, but taking someone, let alone a woman, out to dinner and buying her jewelry was not how he usually acted.

"Well this looks lovely," she remarked, picking up the wine and tasting it. A syrah, her favorite. "How did you know?" she asked.

"Really Molly, must you ask? I stayed with you occasionally after the Fall and saw your nightly glass of wine. You prefer lighter reds, and syrah is your preferred choice," he replied.

Smirking, she asked, "how did you know I would like the necklace? Most men go for a heart or something more general. I can't say I've ever seen a woman wearing a magnifying glass."

"Would you have preferred a heart?" he asked, a frown creeping onto his face.

"Well, no-"

"I thought not," he interrupted. "You work in a lab, which is incidentally how we met. I am a detective and given the fact that magnifying glasses are often seen as a symbol of detective work, I thought that it may remind you of me, whom you seem to like."

At that moment, a large man made his way over to them and introduced himself as Angelo and began to sing Sherlock's praises. Molly smiled through his recitation of Sherlock's antics which had spared the man from a hefty jail sentence. He then brought over salads for them and finally left them to eat. Molly thought on Sherlock's words about the necklace that now lay around her neck. Deciding to once again be bold, since it had actually seemed to work out in her favour last time, she spoke. "Sherlock, I need you to know that I am fully committed to this relationship. You know that I love you and I meant it. There is no one else for me, and I want you to know that," she said, ignoring the remnants of her salad in order to look at him directly.

Sherlock turned his attention fully to her. "Molly, after I left your flat that night, I went back to 221B and thought about what you had said. In fact, I ended up thinking about you and what I felt towards you and how to respond. Please know that I will not say this the right way, but I think that you know me well enough to understand what I am trying to say. Before I had formed my relationship with John, I did not believe myself to have any friends or be even capable of sentiment of any sort. To me, the work was everything and the man was nothing. I was raised and truly believed that sentiment was a weakness. However, after the Fall and Moriarty's threat against John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson, I came to the conclusion that sentiment, while still a weakness, could also be a strength. I came to this conclusion because of you, Molly. If it weren't for you, I would not have survived Moriarty, and neither would the others. It was because of your sentiment for me and your strength that I was able to survive and destroy Moriarty's network to ensure the safety of my friends.

"I have not become a sentimental fool, but I do believe that there is some merit to having sentiment, or feelings, for others. I saw, through you, that it does not have to be a weakness; it can be the greatest strength. For those three days, I pondered all of these things in my mind palace and came to the conclusion that though I do not return your stated feeling of love, I admire your strength that you showed through the incidents with the Fall; I believe that you truly do love me and that sentiment has only served to make you stronger and able to do more things; I find you to be the only competent pathologist in London, and very possibly the world; you and John share the rather unusual ability to be able to tolerate me and my work and, indeed, assist it. As I am not attracted to John and neither is he to me, there is no desire for me to pursue a romantic relationship with him. However, you have previously stated an attraction for me and I do believe myself to be physically attracted to you, as well as mentally," he finished, in a rush.

Molly took a deep breath. "Wait, mentally," she inquired with a quizzical look.

"Your mind attracts me. The official term is a sapiosexual attraction. Your work in the lab and publications are all quite advanced and interesting. I enjoy working with you in the lab and seeing you work there and during autopsies. I do not believe I have seen a pathologist who has a better hand than yours," he informed her. She smiled and reached over to take his hands, noticing that while he had been speaking, their salads had disappeared and two steaming plates of spaghetti bolognese had appeared.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "I think we're on the same page. Now this looks delicious!" Throughout the rest of their meal, they found themselves discussing John's latest girlfriend and Molly's paper that she was working on publishing at the moment. Sherlock offered to go through it with her to offer his input on it and she readily agreed. She had never been the best writer and found editing for grammar to be rather challenging. Angelo presented them with a desert of his own creation which featured a gratuitous amount of chocolate. Sherlock had remained civil throughout the meal and left a generous tip on the table, even though Angelo assured him that they didn't owe a thing.

As they made their way in the cab back to her flat, she found the nervousness from earlier in the evening making its return as she began to think about what they were about to do. Neither spoke as they drove on, but Sherlock had taken her hand in his and was gently rubbing circles on the back of it. Before she realized it, they had pulled up to her address and they were leaving the cab and walking to her door. As she let them in, she felt Sherlock's hands land on her waist and began gently rubbing. Turning around in his arms, she stood on her toes to reach his mouth.

Before she could reach his mouth, however, he spoke. "Molly, John said that I had to tell you," he blurted. Molly frowned and pulled back.

"What do you have to tell me?" she asked.

"I've never done this before."

"Well, yes, I gathered you'd never had a girlfriend from our conversation at dinner," she said, taking his coat from him and leading him to her couch where they both sat.

"No, that's not what I meant," he said, suddenly standing and surprising her. He began to pace.

"Sherlock, what's wrong. What did you mean?" she asked, concerned about the reaction he was having.

"I"mavirgin," he mumbled.

"What? Sherlock, I can't hear you. What did you say?" Molly asked.

"I'm a virgin," he shouted, turning to look at her directly. "I just haven't ever had time or the motivation to not be a virgin, and John said that I should tell you before asking you to have sex with me and 'pop my cherry,' so to speak," he said in a rush. Molly could tell that he was quite upset about this and went over to him where he stood. She wound her arms around his torso and laid her head against his chest.

"Are you embarrassed about that? Because you shouldn't be, but it's ok if you are," she said softly. His arms came down to wrap around her.

"No, I just don't exactly know what I'm doing in terms of, that," he replied. Molly felt some of the tension that had been clear in him fade as they continued their embrace.

"I think that if you want to do it, you need to be able to say it," she said with a smile. "And, I don't think that we should do that tonight. As long as I've wanted that particular event to transpire, I don't think that either of us is quite ready."

"You've wanted to sleep with me?" Sherlock asked, looking down at the woman he wasn't currently holding on to.

Molly blushed. "Well, um, yes. I have," she murmured.

"And you've thought about it?" he asked, smirking. She buried her head into his chest.

"Yes," she squeaked.

"What exactly have you thought about?"

"Um…"

"Molly, I do believe if you want it to happen, you have to be able to talk about it," he responded to her lack of information.

"I don't know, kissing and stuff."

Sherlock smiled, "indeed. Kissing and stuff. I'll have to google how one goes about 'kissing and stuff.'"

Molly pulled away. "Actually, this is going to seem pretty pathetic and, please don't judge me, but I dreamt some things and wrote them down in my dream diary. You could read it, if you like," she said, feeling almost consumed by her nerves.

"I think I should enjoy that. I should also leave so that you can go to bed. You have to work tomorrow, don't you," he asked.

"Yep, but it's during the day, so my sleep schedule won't be too off. I really hate working the night shifts. The only thing good that ever happens then is when you come in because you can't sleep and proceed to annoy me with your experiments." Molly gave him a smile and went to her room and pulled out her dream diary. When she re-entered the room, Sherlock had put on his coat and scarf and was waiting by the door. "Here," she offered it to him.

"I shall read this and take copious amount of notes," he promised. He bent his head down to hers and kissed her. "Goodnight Molly Hooper. And thank you for an excellent first date," he said, exiting and giving her a wink as he left.

As she closed the door, Molly let her exuberance break through as she jumped with the joy of having had a successful first date with Sherlock Holmes and receiving confirmation that he was not putting on a front, but was actually interested in her and in their relationship.


	5. Chapter 5

30 Days (Kind of) to Fall in Love

The prompt is inspired by ericandy's 30 day OTP challenge on Tumblr.

AN: Thank you to those who are following and who have reviewed! I do read them and some have actually been really helpful. Even if my story is gaping with plot holes, it's hard for me to see them.

Disclaimer: If I owned Sherlock Holmes, the rest of the world would never see him Not mine.

5. Kissing

Molly Hooper had a startlingly large amount of erotic dreams. Molly Hooper's analysis of said dreams and her inspirations from them were positively pornographic, in the opinion of the man reading them, her boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes. After a rather successful first date in which it had been revealed that the two were on the same page with one another, so to speak, and that Sherlock's inexperience with both dating in general and in the bedroom had prompted a desire from both that they should move slowly, Molly had presented Sherlock with her dream diary, in which she described in precise detail the dreams in which he stared and what she might like to do in reality. It had become for Sherlock a guide to Molly Hooper.

Over the next few weeks, he worked his way through it, while still taking cases. When Lestrade called him the day after their date, he had immersed himself in his investigation, completely ignoring his girlfriend. It wasn't until he and John stopped by the lab that they actually spoke. Molly had been quite miffed with his ignorance of her texts and calls, but when it was revealed that he had been doing so due to the case, she understood why he hadn't been paying her any attention. She informed him that while she understood, he should at least let her know before hand when he was getting involved in a case such as this. Sherlock agreed and the two became enraptured once more with the microscope. John sighed and went out to get a cup of coffee while they sorted through the chemistry.

When John returned, he was greeted with a sight that he had never though he would see. Sherlock had Molly pressed up against the counter and was currently shoving his tongue down her throat. He could see Molly's hands moving beneath his suit coat as Sherlock's were fisted in her hair, which no longer held the ponytail that he had seen just ten minutes prior. Clearly neither of them had acknowledged his presence as Molly's hands moved down to give Sherlock's bum a good squeeze. Deciding that he needed to make his presence know right away, he let out a rather loud cough which pulled the two out of their embrace rather sharply. "Did you get the results back," he asked innocently, allowing a small smirk to creep onto his face.

Sherlock let out a small cough. "Yes, thank you Molly. Text me the results of the full panel when it comes in please," he said in a voice that did not sound like a man who had just been caught snogging his girlfriend in the morgue laboratory. He turned from the woman he had just been caught kissing and joined John as he walked out of the lab. As they left John frowned and turned to him. "Sherlock," he queried, "did you at least say goodbye to the woman who has the grace and the patience to allow you to do what you were just doing?"

"No," he said with a frown. "Should I have?"

John sighed. After Sherlock's confession the other night that he had intentions of trying to have sex with Molly Hooper, he had sat the man down to try and understand what was going on with him. He could very easily see how things could go pear shaped; Sherlock was generally terrible with people and absolutely terrible to Molly. John was friends with Molly and the last thing that he wanted was for her to get hurt. He and Sherlock had had a long talk about what exactly his intentions were in pursuing Molly, and, after much discussion, he had come to the conclusion that there were genuine feelings on Sherlock's behalf and that this was not just an experiment or for some sort of case.

Since that discussion, he had realized that in addition to acting as Sherlock's conscious in interactions with clients, he was also needed to make sure Sherlock didn't totally bollock everything up. By no means did he intend to stand over his shoulder through every interaction between the two, but at moments like these, he felt a need to butt in. "You should probably at least say good bye to her. I'm assuming you haven't spoken to her since we started on this case?" he said.

"Right," Sherlock said. Without another word he turned around and went back to the lab. John continued to the lift to wait for him.

Molly felt extremely embarrassed. She hadn't meant to get so carried away with kissing Sherlock, but when he had touched his lips to hers, she found herself consumed with him. His lips and mouth were soft but demanding as she had opened her mouth to allow him access. She had gently run her hands up and down his chest, moving to his back and eventually to his arse, which was just as fantastic as it looked. It wasn't until John let out the cough that she had actually felt like she was on planet earth and had pulled away from him. Then, at a word from John, he had left. She shook her head as she tried to refocus on the test that she was running for the case.

Just as she was getting back into her mindset, she heard the door open once more and looked up to see Sherlock coming back in. She had felt a bit disappointed when he hadn't even said goodbye, but she reminded herself that it was Sherlock Holmes, and his promise to at least text her once every 24 hours when he was on a case was quite a bit more than most got out of him.

She smiled as he approached her and put his arms around her once more. He leaned down and whispered in her ear. "Did that live up to your dream," he asked, allowing his rich baritone tones to work their magic in the pathologist. One of her dreams had consisted of her getting herself off just by his voice, and he was anxious to see if he could really get her to do that. Another dream had consisted of him walking into the morgue and snogging her senseless. This had been his attempt to fulfill that particular dream, and he was anxious to know how he had performed.

Molly moved so that her mouth was right next to his ear. She deftly pulled his ear lobe into her mouth before she whispered in his ear. "Oh yes. Excellent dream fulfillment. Next time perhaps you can involve the riding crop, or have you got to that yet," she asked. Sherlock had not in fact got to anything about his riding crop but knew that he needed to find said object soon. He pulled back and placed a chaste kiss on her lips.

"Goodbye," he smirked. "Don't forget to text me those results," he shouted as he left the lab. Molly smiled at how well things were going and was quite excited to see how things would progress.

So life continued for Sherlock and Molly. He kept reading and surprising her with his inventiveness on her dreams. He was faithful to text Molly at least once a day when on a case and the two found themselves going out several more times, each one rather successful. They had yet to take the plunge into sleeping together, but their frequent snogging sessions were making the couple more comfortable with each other and the awkwardness that came with not knowing the person you are kissing had dissipated.


	6. Chapter 6

30 Days (Kind of) to Fall in Love

The prompt is inspired by ericandy's 30 day OTP challenge on Tumblr.

AN: Sorry about not updating yesterday. Hopefully the extra length on this one should make up for it. Thanks once again to the reviewers and followers. Every time I get an email that somebody has followed or reviewed it brings a smile to my face! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: If I owned Sherlock Holmes, the rest of the world would never see him Not mine.

6. Wearing each other's clothes

John Watson loved his morning routine. Perhaps it was left over from his days in the army, but he could imagine nothing more pleasant than waking early, drinking a cup of tea, showering, another cup of tea, breakfast, and then on with his day all within an hour of waking. Since living with Sherlock Holmes, he had had to adjust his expectations quite a bit. With Sherlock, it was rather difficult to fit in the his mantra of early to bed early to rise since the consulting detective had a habit of keeping him up late and waking him up at all hours of the night. At this point, he believed the best he could do was try to get at least 6-8 hours within a 24 hour period, and even this was challenging.

So when he awoke at 6 in the morning and made his way downstairs to the sound of absolute silence after having slept for 8 full hours, John was ecstatic. He was sure to keep the sound of his morning routine down, just in case the consulting detective should poke decide to get up and mess it all up.

After his shower, he was just sitting down to his second cup of tea in his favorite chair when he heard Sherlock's door open. Congratulating himself on having been able to last this long, he prepared himself for the oncoming onslaught. However, instead of the man himself, his girlfriend, Molly Hooper, quietly walked down the hall and into the kitchen. John couldn't help but notice that she wore one of Sherlock's shirts, the dark purple one in fact. Hiding beneath her hair, she made her way to the kettle and began preparing two cups of tea. John realized that she could not see him from his position and make a quick decision not to startle her.

When he began his relationship with Molly, Sherlock had turned to John as the source of all wisdom on women. After the night when he had made his initial inquiries, John had sat him down and had a rather lengthy discussion on the topic. As embarrassing as it was for him, he felt bad because he was fairly certain that no one had ever done that with Sherlock. He didn't know much about his parents, but after meeting Mycroft, he highly doubted that anyone would speak frankly enough with the man. Since then, he had butted in when he could to assure that something didn't happen that would ruin the couple.

The most awkward thing had happened when he had received an urgent text from Sherlock which asked him to come to the local pharmacist's. He had found him staring at the rack of condoms with a rather frustrated look on his face. Needless to say, he had no idea what to purchase and, rather than simply call John or ask the clerk, he had simply pointed at them and instructed John to "pick one." Rather than being upset, John was glad that Sherlock had had the foresight to at least attempt trying to do this for himself. After their purchase, at which the clerk gave them an exaggerated speech on how progressive the two of them were and at which John vehemently denied being gay and at which Sherlock smirked, the two had gone back to Baker Street. There, John mimicked something he had seen in a movie and made Sherlock practice on a banana. Once satisfied that he had the hang of it, John had dropped the subject and never brought it up again.

Now, drinking his tea and watching Molly prepare tea for the two of them, he hoped that things had gone well the night before. As he picked up his paper, forgetting to be quiet, he heard Molly gasp from the kitchen. "Morning Molly," he called, not looking up in order to keep the embarrassment to a minimum.

"M, m, morning John," she answered quietly. He could hear her continue to move about the kitchen.

"Sleep well," he asked without thinking. He hadn't meant to ask her about that.

"Yup," she replied rather cheerily. "But, but we just slept. We're taking things slow. Thanks, by the way."

"What for," he asked, still remaining engrossed in his paper. He was mildly surprised that the two still hadn't slept together. It was rather like two adolescents rather than two adults.

"For taking Sherlock under your wing, so to speak. I could have talked to him about sex and stuff, but I think it's easier when another man can do it," she responded. John was surprised that she could be frank about this but not about the fact that she was in his flatmate's shirt and not much else.

"You're welcome," he replied, but she had already disappeared back to the bedroom with the tea.

When Sherlock had texted Molly to come to Baker Street after her shift that had ended at midnight, she had wanted to refuse. She'd been awake for eighteen hours already and really needed to sleep. However, Sherlock had just finished with a case, which meant that he probably had not slept nor ate since he had started in on it two days ago. She picked him up some late night take away and figured that she would be able to sleep soon after.

She had been correct in her deductions, and after kissing her, he quickly delved into the take away as she helped herself to a bit. He had gone through the entire case with her as they ate, but seemed to be slowing as they finished. Molly took their plates and pulled him into his bedroom, intending to get him into bed and go home. However, once she got him into bed and turned to leave, he grabbed her hand and asked her to stay. She protested that she needed a shower and had no clothes, to which he replied that he had a shower and she could put on one of his shirts. Molly was too tired to protest, so she used his soap and conditioner and put on the first shirt she had grabbed out of his closet.

When she finally made her way back to his bed, it was after 1 and she was exhausted. As soon as she lay down, she felt Sherlock turn and wrap his arms around her. For a man who up to now had protested human contact, he certainly was clingy, especially in his sleep. Molly found herself nestled on his chest, just underneath his jaw. She wasn't one to complain though; not only was she comfortable warm, but she also felt safer than she had in a long time. After a moment of inhaling the comforting scent of her Sherlock, she fell blissfully asleep.

That was until her phone went off at half six with her alarm for work. She managed to reach over Sherlock to the nightstand where she had placed it before. Shutting it off, she buried her face back into Sherlock's chest and inhaled deeply. She really did not want to leave the comfort and warmth which being in his bed provided. She realized that this was the first time that they had "slept together," albeit in the literal sense. She smiled as his arms came around her and he mumbled something. "What is it love," she asked.

"Don't go in. Or go in late. I need you here," he said.

"Oh, and what exactly do you need me here for?"

"To help me sleep. I don't sleep as well when you aren't here and I need to catch up on my rest which I won't be able to do if you go into work," he murmured into her hair. Molly could tell that he was still half awake as he revealed that fact.

"How do you know that you don't sleep as well when I'm not here," she asked. "Last night was the first time we actually slept together."

"And last night I slept better than I ever have," he responded. Molly smiled at his words. As much as she would love to forget work and stay here all day, she knew that she had to go in. There were three autopsies she had scheduled for today and she had a mountain of paperwork on her desk that only seemed to increase in size. "I'll go make tea," she said, pulling out of his embrace. She gently kissed his forehead as she walked around the bed to go to the kitchen.

When Molly came back from the kitchen, Sherlock was sitting up in bed, texting rapidly on his phone. She handed his tea to him and slipped back into bed, laying her head on his shoulder as he fired off several texts in rapid succession. "So John knows I spent the night," she said, not looking at him to see his reaction.

"Yes, I heard the conversation. These walls are rather thin, as it happens," he responded. "It's not as if we had crazy monkey sex. You spending the night shouldn't be that unpredictable, given our current relationship trajectory."

"Sherlock, do you know what crazy monkey sex even is?" she asked, pulling her head up to look at him. Given his general ignorance about things in the bedroom, Molly hadn't anticipated talking about crazy monkey sex for quite some time.

"You wrote it in your dream diary. I googled it."

Molly sighed. "What would we do without the internet? Allright, I'm going to get changed. Shit! I have to go home and get clothes. Damn, I'm going to be late."

Sherlock was rather surprised at Molly's use of expletives. "Wear your trousers from yesterday and wear one of my shirts. No one will notice," he offered.

"Really, you're alright with me wearing your shirts out in public? I mean, as a nightshirt I understand, but to the morgue?" she asked. Not that the thought of wearing his clothes out in public didn't turn her on, but she knew that Sherlock wore designer everything. One of his shirts probably cost half of her wardrobe.

"Try not to spill anything on it," he said, looking at her quizzically. "And if anyone asks, just tell them that it's a new fashion trend. Or that it's mine, whatever you prefer." This last comment he said rather softly. Molly smiled from where she was pulling on her trousers. She buttoned them and went over to him. Sitting down on the side of the bed, she leaned forward till her lips were next to his ear.

"I'm happy to wear your clothes and I have no problem with telling people who they and I belong to," she whispered. Before she could pull back, she felt his hands on her waste, pulling her down to him. He crushed his mouth down upon hers, his tongue desperately seeking entrance to her mouth. She could taste the tea she had made for them as they allowed their passion to play out through their mouths. Sherlock enjoyed possessing things, and knowing that Molly had openly admitted to being his made him quite happy.

Just as he began to go for her clothes, Molly pulled back and out of his arms. "I have to get to work love. Otherwise I won't have a job and you'll have to work with another pathologist," she said with a smile. He sighed and let her go. Molly finished getting dressed and went back to him. "Get some sleep and I'll make you dinner tonight, if you like," she said. He hummed his agreement, and she left him with a soft kiss.


	7. Chapter 7

30 Days (Kind of) to Fall in Love

The prompt is inspired by ericandy's 30 day OTP challenge on Tumblr.

AN: Reviews make the world go round! Thanks so much to those reading, following, and reviewing! I'm serious when I say that each one brings a smile to my face. I fully intend to keep up with this; however, I go back to school tomorrow and begin student teaching on Monday. I'm going to do my best with daily updates since this is my coping mechanism for stress, but life happens. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: If I owned Sherlock Holmes, the rest of the world would never see him Not mine.

7. Cosplaying

_Take off early tonight. I need you for a case. S_

_A case or a "case"? xxxM_

_A Case Molly. Get your mind out of the gutter. S_

_There may be a "case" later. S_

_Lol! Alright, what time? xxxM_

_I'll be by at half six. We have to drive somewhere. S_

_Be sure to tell Stamford you'll be in late tomorrow. This may take all night. S_

_Anything in particular you want me to wear? xxxM_

_It's all set out on your bed. Be home at least 2 hours early as there is a hair stylist. S_

_What type of case is this? xxxM_

_You'll enjoy it, don't worry. S_

_Will do. TTYL. 3 xxxM_

Molly was a bit nervous as to what this case could entail. Sherlock had enlisted her help on several other cases (those where John was absent or wouldn't wear a dress). Usually he told her to wear a specific outfit made up of what he assumed she would own. Unfortunately, Molly didn't have the biggest wardrobe, not for lack of enjoying shopping and wearing nice clothes, but usually from sheer lack of time to go out to find clothes. When she would inform Sherlock that she didn't own whatever he had requested, it mysteriously made its way to her house by the time he needed her to wear it. Molly had felt overwhelmed by these additions, especially since all the brands were designer and sure to cost more than anything she would have ever picked out. To be fair, they were extremely well made and fit her perfectly. She even had enough to start wearing some of it to the morgue, which pleased him immensely. Dating Sherlock Holmes was a practice in choosing the right battles. This was not one which Molly was willing to fight. Especially if she got another pair of Jimmy Choos.

So as she finished up her paperwork for the day, she was more than a little excited to see what new outfit he would have her in. If she was really lucky, he might have bought her new undergarments as well. Molly knew that if she asked Sherlock for anything directly that he would not hesitate to buy it for her. However, there was something very special in wearing the things that he had picked out for her especially. To be honest, it was a huge turn on, especially when it came to the underwear department. Knowing that he had sifted through all of the options to settle on one thing in particular was sexy. The fact that everything he picked out always fit well was the icing on the delicious cake.

After talking with Mike about leaving early and coming in late, which she felt guilty about and he assured her was completely fine, Molly grabbed a cab to go home. She left at four so that she could shower before the stylist came over. This was a new addition to helping Sherlock. She'd never had him send over someone to do her hair; he usually preferred it down. She fantasied about what sort of case this was and what they were going to do until the cabbie interrupted her thoughts by informing her that they had arrived.

Molly greeted Toby at the door and headed back to her bedroom. On her bed was a pink dress straight out of the fifties. There was a taffeta petticoat and a jean jacket next to it. Beside that were a pair of thigh high fishnet stockings, a black corset, and a rather small pair of black lace undies. On the floor were a pair of matching pink heels, Betsy Johnson by the pink bottoms. She let out a small squeal of delight at the ensemble and quickly stripped to take a shower.

As she scrubbed the smell of death and chemicals, though Sherlock enjoyed the scent the rest of the world did not, out of her hair, she tried to remember where she had seen a similar outfit. This was clearly not a normal case, especially if he was dressing her up in that. Drying off, it dawned on her. The outfit was an exact replica of Rose's from an episode of _Doctor Who_. "It's a fancy dress party, and I'm going as Rose Tyler," Molly said out loud. "But if I'm going as Rose, then is Sherlock…" Molly ran out to grab her phone and sent off a text.

_Are we going to a fancy dress party? xxxM_

_Yes. Don't get overexcited. Your stylist will be there in a few minutes. I'll see you at half 6. S_

_:D Are you going as who I think you're going? xxxM_

_Get dressed. I'll see you soon. S_

A few weeks ago, John and Molly had taken it upon themselves to educate Sherlock in the world of _Doctor Who_. While he had kicked and fussed at the beginning, he eventually relented and allowed himself to become immersed in the subject. He had delved fully into it and begun watching it throughout the night in order to get caught up, but Molly had requested that he watch the second series with her as Rose was her favorite companion. Ever the hopeless romantic, she held to the belief that the Doctor loved Rose above all others and that even into his eleventh regeneration, he still held those feelings for her. Molly also happened to have a little crush on the Tenth Doctor. Nothing like what she felt for Sherlock, but she wouldn't say no to running off in the TARDIS with him.

Sherlock must have picked out her costume based on her loved for the show and for that particular episode, she thought. But if she was dressed as Rose, that would mean Sherlock had dressed up like the Doctor, a sight which Molly was anxious to see. As her mind began to run away with thoughts of Sherlock as the Doctor and the role playing fun which could be had, she heard a knock at her door. She realized that it must be the stylist and went to answer it. The woman took one look at her and sighed. "Where is your bathroom," she asked in a French accent.

"Um, right through here," Molly led the woman in and was quickly set down on her toilet seat. The woman pulled out a myriad of tools and began to arrange her hair in a bouffant. Molly tried to watch in order to try and replicate the style, but was soon lost. Deciding to return to her fantasy land of Sherlock as the Doctor, Molly allowed her mind to run away as the woman pulled and teased and sprayed and pinned until a perfect pouf sat on her head. She then turned Molly around and began to do her eye makeup. By the time she was done, Molly couldn't believe the final product. She looked like she had just stepped out of the fifties. Before she could get anymore caught up, the woman directed her to take off her robe so she could help her with the corset.

Molly had never worn a corset before, but it had always been a fantasy of hers. While the dress necessitated the use of said garment, she couldn't help but wonder if Sherlock had known that she wanted to wear one. This was no simple piece of satin. There were defined panels and they definitely did something to her figure. As the French woman tightened the laces, Molly found herself out of breath. Turning around, she asked the woman to ease up, to which she only pulled tighter and scowled at Molly. She finished tightening and put in a tight bow; Molly could barely breathe and was not happy about it. She attempted to loosen it, but her attempts were in vain.

The French woman left her without a word and left the apartment. As much as she had wanted to be all put together for Sherlock, she knew she needed help with this one.

_Can you come a bit early? I need help with something. xxxM_

_Of course. Is Monique still there? S_

_No, she left me in a bind. Literally. xxxM_

_On my way. S_

Molly sighed in relief. She put on the stockings and her magnifying glass necklace while she waited for Sherlock to arrive. It was six, so it wasn't as if they were running short on time. Molly laid down on her bed as this was the only position in which she could breathe easily. Before this, she hadn't understood when woman had described them as torture devices; now she knew. Luckily, she heard Sherlock come in and call for her. "Bedroom," she answered, standing up with her back to the door. She heard him enter. "I need you to loosen this corset. I can't breathe and your French woman left even after I told her it was too tight," Molly said, keeping her head looking forward.

Saying nothing, she felt his hands go to the corset and untie the knot which had defied every one of her attempts. He began to loosen the strings, and she felt the air rush back into her body. She let out a grateful sigh as she reveled in the freedom. "Better," he asked, his hands still on her waist.

"Much," she replied.

"Do you still want to wear it or would you prefer something else?" he asked.

"I'm fine with wearing it, I just can't have it that tight," she said. He gently smoothed down the sides and began tightening it, but not nearly as much as the woman had done before. This time it was much more bearable, and while it was still tight, at least she could breathe. As he tied the bow, she heard him mumble something. "What was that," she inquired.

"I should have known better than to entrust this with anyone else. I should be the only one to put one of these on you, and I should be the only one to take it off," he said huskily. Molly couldn't help the shiver that ran up her spine at his words. This made the idea of corset wearing much more sexy, which Molly greatly appreciated. She felt him kiss her shoulder. "Finish getting dress. I'll wait outside," he said and left. Molly smiled and quickly finished putting on her layers.

When she was all done, she allowed herself to look in the mirror. "Well slap my ass and call me Rose," she mumbled to herself. Molly had always loved dressing up and it made it that much better when it was a legit costume which made her feel like the person she was dressing up as. She opened her door and went out to meet Sherlock, who was not wearing his traditional black suit. Instead he had donned a brown pinstripe suit with a brown tie with blue swirls. His hair was gelled to make it stick up all over the place. He had on cream converse to complete the look. The look which was better than Molly could have ever imagined.

A giant smile took over her face as she saw him and what he was wearing. Unable to help herself, she launched herself at him. He caught her in a hug and quickly found her mouth with his. Sherlock wasn't one for dressing up in silly costumes, but when it was for a case and it produced this sort of reaction in Molly, it was definitely worth it. He pulled away from her and took her hand. "Come, we'll be late," he said briskly, leading them out of the building. He hailed a cab and spurted off an address.

Molly was finding it rather difficult to keep her eyes off her handsome boyfriend. She made a mental note to have the cabbie take a picture of them as this was definitely something that she wanted to remember. Remembering their actual purpose in all of the dressing up, she asked Sherlock as to the nature of the case which involved them dressing up. He informed her that there was a fancy dress party for Halloween at the home of a suspected murderer. He needed to get close to check for a few things in the man before he could make a conclusive deduction. In order to do this, he needed to attend the party and would need a date. He also told her that he figured that it was something that she would probably enjoy doing and so he had asked her along. Molly readily agreed with him about enjoying the fancy dress part. So they made their way to the extravaganza.

At the party, Molly received quite a few compliments on her outfit and Sherlock got more than one dirty look from both men and women. It was held at an estate outside of the city. The grounds were manicured to perfection; there was a pool which looked incredibly inviting if it weren't for the rather cool October weather. The food was delicious, and Molly was fully enjoying herself, as she was supposed to.

Luckily getting close to the murderer was rather simple and Sherlock was able to confirm his deductions. Unfortunately, right as Lestrade showed up to make the arrest, the murderer jumped from a third story window in an attempt to kill himself before being sent to jail. Luckily, he jumped into the pool, which meant that Lestrade had to drag a sore and wet murderer back to NSY. The party had fallen apart after that; Lestrade wanted to get the official statement for Sherlock but it was well past midnight at this point. Molly was yawning and Sherlock had no desire to be detained with statement giving, so they snuck out and hailed a waiting cab.

"Well that was rather anticlimactic," Molly commented.

"Yes, but much easier for the force to deal with alive."

"Oh, I didn't mean that I wanted him to die. It just would have had that poetic, 'you'll never catch me alive' feel to it."

"Yes, I suppose it would have," he replied, smiling down at her. Molly returned it and lay her head on his shoulder. He moved his arm so that it was around her shoulders and she was cushioned against him. "Did I mention that you look rather fetching tonight?" he asked.

"No, you didn't in fact say it. Considering you greeted me by snogging me silly, I deduced that that was your opinion."

"Oh, so you're deducing now?" he asked with a smirk.

"I suppose you've rubbed off on me," she retorted. He kissed her forehead as she closed her eyes to pass the time back to her flat. Sherlock was hoping to rub something else off of her, but by the time that they pulled up, Molly was fast asleep. He paid the cabbie and carried the sleeping woman up to her flat. He laid her on the bed and began to undress her. Remarkably, she stayed asleep throughout. By the time he had her down to the knickers and corset, he debated waking her up to change into pajamas. It wasn't that he felt uncomfortable at undressing her, but she may feel uncomfortable with it.

Deciding that she would rather sleep than be woken up, he undid the corset and pulled her pajamas on for her. He tucked her into her bed and went to take a shower. There was a terrible amount of gel in his hair and he had no desire to sleep with it in his hair overnight. After de-gelling, he slipped into bed with her and wrapped his arms around her small frame. She sighed and turned to rest her head on his chest. Sherlock smiled as he found himself quickly falling asleep with her in his arms.


	8. Chapter 8

30 Days (Kind of) to Fall in Love

The prompt is inspired by ericandy's 30 day OTP challenge on Tumblr.

AN: Wow, so let's just say that these last few weeks have been absolutely insane! I've started student teaching and that plus driving an hour each way is quite taxing. To be fair, sneaking Sherlock references into my lectures is quiet fun (nothing like saying that Circe asked Odysseus to "have dinner with her" while his men were still swine, or that Penelope believed in Odysseus, just like John and Molly believe in Sherlock). I cannot say when the next update will be, but I promise that I will finish this story.

To those who are waiting, I commend your patience, and I sincerely hope that this chapter makes up for it. And with that, the warning for sexy times is now here! To those who have reviewed, I smile at every new one. Seriously. Thank you so much for sticking with me and being patient. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: If I owned Sherlock Holmes, the rest of the world would never see him Not mine.

8. Shopping

Valentine's Day was coming. Quickly. Far, far, far too quickly for Sherlock Holmes. This was the first year that he had had a girlfriend who would, no doubt, expect at least a present. It wasn't that Sherlock didn't enjoy buying things for Molly; on the contrary, he quite enjoyed the look of surprise that would pass over her face and the following admiration for said gift. On the night of their first date, he had found a necklace with a magnifying glass charm. Molly had loved it then and now she hardly ever took it off. He had bought several outfits and shoes for her when he needed her to look a certain way for a case that he was bringing her on. As much as she loved her Jimmy Choos, he knew that even the best pair wouldn't do for her.

So it was that he found himself in a department store on February 13th, presentless and rather clueless as well. He had looked through the jewelry displays; he had tried various forms of chocolate from around the world; he had even considered dressing up as the Doctor again, just for the reaction that she had when he did that. It was at this point that he saw the display for several CDs' which had songs "For that Special night" on them. He picked up one to see a list of the cheesiest list of love songs. Barry White, Celine Dion and a host of other idiotic artist filled the playlist. Then the inspiration hit. He knew exactly what to get Molly for Valentine's Day.

Molly was nervous. Sherlock had told her to keep the evening of Valentine's Day free, and so she had. She had also purchased his present. She wasn't sure if she could really call it that, but it was something at least. He hadn't told her what they were doing, and to be honest, she was worried he had got a case and totally forgot V Day. Still, she had kept the evening free and was awaiting his text to inform her of their plans for the evening. Trying to keep her mind off of the overhanging text, she threw herself into her work.

She had her hands buried in Mr. Gilmore's chest cavity when she heard her phone go off. She quickly dropped the heavy heart back and threw off her gloves. She knew it was terribly unprofessional of her, but she was so nervous for tonight, so she had an excuse. She might be little miss perfect but not when it came to Sherlock Holmes. As she was washing off her hands, she heard her phone go off again. Molly went to her desk and pulled out her phone.

_7 PM, Baker St. S._

_I'm making dinner. S._

Molly grinned at her phone. She couldn't help it. As nervous as she was, she remembered that this was Sherlock. They had been dating for several months now, and had developed a comfortableness with each other. They had yet to actually have "the sex," as she had labeled it in her mind, but they were very accustomed to one another. She was planning on the event to occur tonight which was the cause of her nerves, not Sherlock's cooking or even seeing him tonight.

_Sounds good. Can't wait! xxxM_

She used her key to get into 221B Baker Street and went up the stairs. The door was open and she could smell something delicious coming from the kitchen. She hung up her coat by the door and walked into the see Sherlock in an apron, stirring something on the stove. Molly smiled and wrapped her arms around her boyfriend. She kissed his neck and sighed. "It smells lovely darling," she said softly. Sherlock smiled.

"I hope you're hungry," he replied.

"Mmhmm. Just had a bag of crisps for lunch since I knew I was getting your expert cooking tonight. Also, since when do you cook?" she asked.

Sherlock moved from her embrace to stir something on the back of the range. "I've always been able to cook, I just choose not to. However, I figured, and read online, that it would be much more romantic if I were to make our dinner. Also, what are 'bonus points' and how exactly do I earn them and what exactly do I get and how many do I have to have in order to redeem them for something?" he asked as he turned to her with a perplexed look on his face.

Molly laughed. "I wouldn't worry too much about 'bonus points.' They're not actual points, in fact, I'm not really sure how to best explain them. But I certainly do appreciate you cooking for me," she said with a smile, moving to stand to the side so that he could work. A frown remained on Sherlock's face as he continued to struggle to understand what these mysterious points were.

Molly moved to pour wine for both of them as Sherlock began plating up their dinner. Sherlock didn't drink wine or other alcohol nearly as often as Molly did, but he would join her in a glass of wine upon occasion. She knew that he would drink with John sometimes too, though never ever when he was on a case.

The couple sat down at the table which had been cleared of all microscopes and experiments. Sherlock had made pasta with an excellent sauce and picked out a great red wine to go with it. He knew the types that Molly liked and was usually fine with drinking what she liked. Over dinner they discussed the latest experiments in the lab and the autopsy that Molly had done earlier that day. One thing that made Molly so very happy about being with Sherlock was that she could speak freely about her day with him and he never became disgusted or asked her not to talk about it. Previous boyfriends, and even Jim, had turned squeamish when she had launched into a retelling of her day and what had happened. Instead of being disgusted, he usually ended up asking for more details than were necessarily appropriate, but it was a nice change for Molly to be able to share her day with someone.

As they made their way through dinner and onto desert (chocolate covered strawberries filled with cream), the two migrated onto the rug in front of the fire. Molly was about to grab her bag and go change when Sherlock stood up and picked up his violin. She frowned as she watched him move in front of the window, holding it, ready to play. "I thought you would enjoy this more than a gift that you don't want or need," he said softly, lifting his bow. Molly smiled as he began to play.

It wasn't long before tears came to her eyes as she realized what he was playing. He had adapted "As Time Goes By" to the violin and had created a concerto around it. She could hear strains from other melodies that she loved, but it was all focused on the main theme of the song. Sherlock had closed his eyes and was moving as he played; to Molly, it was one of the most beautiful sights. She had forced him to watch _Casablanca_ several weeks ago, and as much as he had protested it and had focused on her for the entire film, it was clear that he had picked up on her enjoyment of the song.

When he drew out the last strains, she stood up and went over to him. His eyes were still closed but his arms had dropped the violin and bow on the chair. She stood up on her tiptoes and gently pressed her lips on his. Bringing her hands up to rest on his shoulders, she smiled and spoke. "That was the best present that you could have ever given me," she whispered. "Stay right here, and I'll go get yours. It might take a mo', but it'll be worth the wait, I promise." With one last peck, she left him standing by the window and picked up her large tote, in which his present was contained.

Molly took a deep breath. This was it. Now or never. She gently eased the door to Sherlock's bedroom open and went out to him. He stood looking out of the front window, onto the street below. There he observed the people passing by, taking apart the little details that he alone seemed to see. He allowed himself to become distracted to the point that he did not hear her approach, and it wasn't until her arms came around his middle that he remembered that she had been going to get her present for him. She hugged him and he could feel her small body against his back. Something was different though. Instead of the wool jumper, it felt as though she were wearing something silky, and her arms were bare.

He turned into her embrace and felt her cling on to him all the harder as she buried her face in his chest. "Molly, what on earth are you doing? And what the hell are you wearing?" he asked, really confused at this point. He heard a mumble from where she remained. "What was that?" he inquired.

She lifted her head to look up at him. "I'm giving you your present. And wearing it too, sort of," she said softly. He quirked his head to the side, trying to understand what she was saying. "Oh bloody hell," she said and stepped back.

Sherlock let out a soft, "oh." "So, I'm assuming you are my present?" he asked, a smirk creeping onto his face. She had somehow found a ribbon that was wide enough to provide coverage to all of her bits, but it still left little to the imagination. In the center was a large bow, which he assumed, if pulled, would drop the entire ensemble. "Well this is certainly a surprise."

Molly was beat red. "Listen, if you're not ready, I understand, or if you don't want me, or whatever, but I just thought-"

He cut her off. "I always want you," he said. Sherlock gently turned her face up to look at him. "Please know that everything I said to you at that damned Christmas party was untrue. I didn't see you. I couldn't see you. I was wrong in my observations. Your lips are perfect. Your breasts are more than adequate. They have taken up quite a space in my mind palace," he said with a smile. Molly, finally feeling reassured, returned his smile and felt her insecurities fall away. She knew that Sherlock wouldn't have stayed with her if he was bored. The man couldn't stay with anything if he was really bored, and for as much as she saw him, he could and did see her.

(M rating starts here!)

With that, Sherlock bent down to kiss her once more. This time his hands roved over her satin clad skin, gently touching and feeling everywhere she had wrapped the bow. Molly reveled in his touch. She could feel him exploring her and trying to catalogue how she felt. They had made out. They had slept in the same bed. They had even had a few grope sessions, but this was the farthest they had gone and Molly was ready for so much more. She hadn't wanted to push Sherlock, as much as she had wanted him from the moment he consented to be hers, but now she could tell that they were both read and she was doing waiting.

His mouth on hers became greedier, moving to her cheeks and neck. Molly lolled her head back, enjoying the attention he was paying to that particular erogenous zone. Suddenly, she felt his hands come to rest on her bow. The outfit, if it could really be called that, relied on that bow to hold it together. Without it, Molly would be left stark naked, and, while that was the end goal, she wasn't quite ready to be so in the living room. In tandem with her thought, she heard Sherlock mumbled against her throat, "bedroom."

The two made their way there, slowly, exchanging kiss after kiss on their way. When he had her in the room, he quickly closed the door and broke away from Molly to remove his own clothing. As he sat on the bed to remove his shoes, Molly came up behind him and began to undo the buttons that barely kept his shirt together. As much as she loved his tight shirts, she was craving the alabaster skin underneath. She pulled off the covering and began to run her hands over his smooth chest.

Though the room was lit only by the bedside lamp, she could still see the scars which dotted his chest. While being a consulting detective was mostly about using logic and deduction, she knew that there was a physical element to it that Sherlock craved. As she moved her hands over his muscled arms, she could feel the scar tissue and the marks near his elbow. When she had faked his death, she had had to look at his medical records. It was from there that she found out that he had used cocaine, but that he had been able to quit simply by using his mind. Still, even the miraculous mind of Sherlock Holmes could not erase the marks of a needle. Feeling a spark of worry for the man she loved, Molly bent her head down to gently kiss the inside of his elbow.

When she straightened up, she realized that he had frozen as she had been administering her osculation. "Are you alright love," she asked, concerned that they were moving too fast. She gently eased her arms around him in a hug. He nodded and lifted his hands to hold on to hers as she sat behind him.

"You know I can return the sentiment," he said, quietly. Molly wasn't sure what to say, but before she could say that it was ok or fine, he spoke again. "I enjoy seeing you, especially in the lab. I like it when you make logical deductions, even if they aren't always correct. You smell like chemicals and roses, two of my favorite things. Sometimes, when I see you, or hold you, or think about you, it feels like my heart stops beating, just for a moment. I don't know how to qualify these feelings, these emotions. I don't know what to do with them, but I do know that I need you. Desperately." At that, he turned around. All he had on were his boxers. Boldly, he reached out and grasped the bow. "Are you certain," he asked, looking into her face. He saw that her eyes were a bit teary looking, but she nodded, rather enthusiastically.

"Yes, oh so much yes," Molly replied. With that, Sherlock pulled at the bow, revealing all of her to him. Before she could think, he pounced on her. While pulling the ribbon away from them, he leaned her back on the bed and began kissing down her throat. His hands made their way to her breasts, gently cupping and touching at first, but soon his fingers began to pinch and focus in on her nipples, making them hard and pointed. Molly let out a soft moan as his mouth moved from her neck to one breast, kissing and sucking his way until the entire areola was in his mouth. The sensation caused her to grasp his hair with her hands as the feelings overwhelmed her.

After paying the other peak equal attention, Sherlock's mouth moved over her stomach, placing kiss after kiss over the surface. Molly's head arched back as she felt him begin to nose her mound. She had thought about getting it waxed or shaving it, but she had never done it and honestly had no desire to do so. His hand wove its way through the coarse, dark hair and pulled. Her legs had long ago opened for the man, and he kneeled between them, slowly kissing up her thighs.

Just when she though that she would no longer be able to contain herself, she felt his mouth move to her center. He began licking and sucking and teasing her with tongue and finger. Her hands curled tighter in his hair as she felt her orgasm approach. At the moment where she just needed a little push, she felt two of his digits enter her and curl. That was all she needed. Molly let out a breathy moan as her hips bucked up against his mouth. As she came down from her high, she looked at the man who was grinning from between her thighs. "Did you know that you taste delicious," he asked. All she could do was sigh, as she flopped her head back down.

"Sherlock, you said you were a virgin. Where the hell did you learn to do that?" she inquired.

"I am capable of using the internet and performing research. Plus, your body gives off certain signs when you enjoy something, and the noises you indicate are rather helpful. Really, it's rather an elementary science," he said, moving up her body and kissing her. She could still taste herself on his lips, but it was more erotic than she thought that it would be. Molly began trying to turn him over so that she might have her turn at exploring his body, but he stopped her and spoke. "As much as I would love some more foreplay, I highly doubt that I will be able to last."

Molly giggled. She resumed kissing him, but moved one of her hands from his hair to the waistband of his boxers. Sliding the fabric off of him, she reached for his length and began pumping it with her hand. Clearly going down on her had given him an immense amount of pleasure as he was hard as a rock. His breathing had really picked up as she continued her ministrations. "Please, Molly," he spoke. "Please, I need you." With that, he looked into her eyes as she nodded. Sherlock reached over to the night stand and pulled out a condom. Quickly rolling it on, he looked at her once more. As she nodded, he sheathed himself in her fully.

She let out a loud moan. As much enjoyment as could be derived from an orgasm, the feeling of being full, and with Sherlock nonetheless, was overwhelming. Slowly, he began thrusting, hitting her in just the right spot. Molly tried to contain the pleasure that he was causing within her, but she just couldn't. When Sherlock leaned down to whisper in her ear, "I want to hear you. I want to hear everything I am doing to you," she allowed her inhibitions to give way and said his name in a moan.

They moved together, and before long, both felt their approaching orgasm. Molly hooked her legs around his hips so that he could drive deeper into her. With the change of angle, she was pushed over the edge and came with his name on her lips. After a few more thrusts, Sherlock followed her and shouted her name.

The two lay, spent and content in each other's arms. Molly gently ran her fingernails up and down his back, as if he were a cat. He let out an appreciative groan and rolled over, pulling out of her. She gasped at the feeling of emptiness inside of her, but was soon pulled into his arms. Resting her head against his chest, she sighed contentedly. "Happy Valentine's Day, my love," she whispered.

Sherlock kissed her forehead and pulled her tighter. "Happy Valentine's Day, my Molly."


End file.
